Charmer
by Synonym
Summary: Maybe there is something of worth there. Or maybe stupidity's just contagious. Mukuro x Gokudera.


**Charmer**

* * *

Gokudera bristles. There are pants lying on his floor, much too large to be his own - blatant evidence, pointing threatening fingers. Blue. Navy, to be exact. Ryohei looks from him to them, toast crumbs falling out of the corners of his mouth. Gokudera jabs a finger at him, his sombre expression registering as warning sirens in the boxers head. The bright flush across his cheeks is as endearing as it is confounding, because Gokudera Hayato doesn't get embarrassed, unless –

_Oh_. And a chunk of toast squarely misses Gokudera's carpet in favour of Ryohei's trainers.

"If you say a word," Gokudera hisses, and he doesn't need to finish the thought before Ryohei's backing out his bedroom door with an expression like he just caught the Storm guardian eating his sister.

As precaution, Gokudera does not enter the base for the rest of the day. Ryohei sits in his car, turns the engine on, and downs a box of SleepEasy. Or that's what he's considering, anyway.

X

The thing about a relationship with Italy's most dysfunctional mafioso is that it takes effort. It takes patience, enough skill in analysis to know what to say and what never to say. It takes perseverance and care, expert hands, and an old tie to him would never be amiss.

But Mukuro uses pure charm. It takes weeks, in their sporadic meetings and completely unintentional bump-into's on the street, maybe using the same restaurant's bathroom in coincidental irony, for progress to appear. Gokudera finds him unbearable. He says, "I find you fucking unbearable," then he gives in with an unmistakable pout, and he stands on his tip -toes to kiss Mukuro with all the romance of a TV dinner anniversary. "There, happy?" he spits after a thorough wiping of his lips. His scowl is unmoving - eyes particularly soft, Mukuro notices with an amused smile.

"Purely ecstatic," he replies, and he then casually walks past Gokudera, and out of the door.

X

That was it, Gokudera wishes he could say. That was all, believe me, _please._

But then he knows: he'd be a gargantuan liar. So gargantuan, uttering this particular stretch of the truth would anger god to the point a black hole would appear under his feet, swallow him whole and stitch itself back up again. So, when Ryohei proves to be the bigmouthed dipshit Gokudera guesses he's been to begin with, and all of a sudden Yamamoto's asking if those nights he and Mukuro spend together 'playing card games' aren't so innocent after all, Gokudera does nothing but crack a few teeth in half with the tension of his jaw. Not a word. Mukuro proudly pats him on the head when he's told, and returns to dully glazing over at the re-runs on the television screen.

"That's it?" Gokudera breathes hysterically.

Mukuro doesn't spare him a glance. "Forgive me dear Hayato, but you aren't the most discreet person to have a highly secretive relationship with. And blue hair on your pillows won't leave much to the imagination."

Gokudera considers this. "Could be Chrome's," he points out.

And, to his horror, Mukuro just laughs and laughs.

"Asshole," he growls, and the older guardian pats his head again, as though it's any consolation.

X

Their first time is like this; the blinding alabaster of hospital rooms black at midnight. The steady pulse against him. Breath brushing the goosebumps of their skin. They're visiting, they're worried - Dino Cavallone lies in a bed walls away, straining smiles at a few of their fellow guardians. The slow progress of their whatever-the-fuck-you'd-call-it has them both impatient, on edge; the soft slide of hands in hair sounds suspiciously like a _snap._

"Whoever you want me to be," Mukuro murmurs, mouth warm on Gokudera's ear, the bitter sentiment making him shiver. "Just say the word." Gokudera flinches, but it goes unnoticed in the blackness of the room, the slightness of their distance.

"Dumbass." Tentatively, pale hands press deeper into his hair, his lips brush the skin of Mukuro's cheek. "Why do you think I dragged _you _in here?"

X

They get caught the split second they've finished up. A distraught nurse roaring on about lawsuits like a broken record disappears from the hospital a day later. Mukuro continues to look suspiciously innocent over it whenever it broadcasts on the news.

X

Then the whole family finds out. Bianchi takes it as a personal threat, constantly acting as a human shield for her brother whenever the illusionist is in sight. Yamamoto sort of eggs them on, the creepiest reaction, really, and he obliviously has questionably serious conversation's with Mukuro about future marriage, adoption and investments in holiday home plans, that the Mist guardian laughs over endlessly afterwards. Ryohei proclaims it's rather extreme, and then pesters Hibari for some similar announcement, ending up hospitalized for a month. Tsuna simply covers his ears whenever the topic comes into conversation, apparently an awful enough action that Gokudera considers breaking everything off immediately. Tsuna stops this, though he's never completely sure just why.

Chrome doesn't look Gokudera in the eye ever again. He notices her attention increases whenever he turns around, though.

X

No matter how far into denial Gokudera goes, it's a matter of complete fact that the image of the Mist in Namimori battling off Marmon - with deranged intensity, lithe body moving with calculated control, with inevitable victory, with feline smoothness- is the most arousing thing he's ever seen. _Ever._ Mukuro knows this, positively glows when he figures it out after one more step inside Gokudera's shoes. He gloats regularly, teases; he likes to close in on him, likes to capture his wrists, likes to see him sneer. He loves when Gokudera embarrassedly punches him in the arm later. It's proof of accomplishment.

If Gokudera asked, Mukuro would tell him something vulgar and private and dishonest in his lowest purr. If Gokudera could take the plunge into the illusionists mind and scan for the true answer, he'd find the image of himself smoothing out a suit jacket, frowning; thoughtful.

But he'd be far too disconcerted to vaunt over it, Mukuro knows.

X

Mishaps with the bazooka, yet again: Gokudera returns to find Mukuro's legs pinning him down, a wary smirk on his face. A soft kiss on his mouth. "What the hell was that for?" Gokudera snarls, cheeks warm.

Mukuro makes a face. "You still taste like ash." He sighs, shrugs. Lifts himself off and waves a passive back of the hand at him from the doorway. "I'll have to make do."

So Gokudera doesn't kiss him for a whole week until he gives in and apologizes. Or at least Gokudera can see that he tried to.

X

"Don't say that to me ever again."

Mukuro slides his arms around Gokudera's waist smoothly, face burying into a pale neck with a smile. The other furiously jolts his shoulder against his chin, attempts hiding his face in his bangs. "No promises."

X

Shopping is a living Hell with Mukuro. Restocking the base took just over forty seconds with Ryohei, who practically dove headfirst into aisles and raced back out with frightening agility. Domesticity had never been the boxer's strong point.

Mukuro, on the other hand, is holding an empty basket half an hour in, staring at the board-game section with his business face. Gokudera is tapping his feet. Sighing loudly. Bordering on smacking one of the half-price wok's at the idiot's head. Instead, he waits the full remaining fifteen minutes of Mukuro's decidedly boring staring contest, then he pays for Monopoly via credit card.

Haru coughs, "_whipped_," under her breath when they return, then she pats her chest, hiding a smirk.

X

Seven in the morning. Mukuro's arm slings over his hips, lazily. Work, he says, or Gokudera thinks he does. He grunts in response, and the other promptly rolls off the bed. Then he blinks into something like awareness. "Take your own clothes with you this time," he murmurs, and he can hear the snort that follows.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Not mines.

**AN:** This is old as shit. If you read it already somewhere else, apologies are in order, but stuff was in need of major revamping, plus, I kind of loved it and wanted to post something Mukuro-related. I mean, he looks a little too fabulous lately not to have a little attention. Even if it's ridiculously fluffy.

AND. BYAKURAN NEEDS TO FUCKING DIE ALREADY. SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS.

I FLIPPED THE BIRD AT MY SCREEN THAT WHOLE CHAPTER.

On a more relevant note, people, if you read, you're awesome. The pairing is direly obscure and the writing style is from an era of LIFE IS A GODDAMN RAINBOW, so lots of love and thanks. 3


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